The suitcase
by Quaeritur
Summary: Follows the story of Arthur and Ariadne from their prep work to the end of the movie and beyond, with Ariadne's suitcase as a common thread.
1. Small bites

_Disclaimers: The usual ones (I do not own the characters and I do this for fun)_

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**The suitcase**

**Chapter 1: Small bites**

The window is starting to fog up, a little more with every breath she exhales, and the lights of downtown Los Angeles turn into diffused stars. She has been standing here, mesmerized by the view since she entered the hotel room. The glass is cold under her forehead. She follows the lights, randomly popping on, as the corporate world dances its night time ballet; business men and women, leaving their offices to be replaced by cleaning crews and security guards on their rounds.

She has been gazing at L.A.'s financial district for hours now.

And yet, were she to close her eyes, she couldn't jut down on paper a single detail of the buildings she's been staring at, not even sketch the city's skyline. Her eyes are focused on a point past the glass and metal of the nearby skyscrapers.

The weight of her totem in the palm of her hand is right. She drags the pad of her thumb over the tiny indentation only she knows she carved under the bishop's miter. She needs this constant reassurance she is not dreaming. But she isn't strong enough at the same time to deal with reality. That's what she's telling herself. She doesn't want to acknowledge the enormity of what she has just lived through. She wishes she could keep fogging her mind, like she can cloud the hotel windowpanes. If she stops dazing herself, if she allows her senses to come back on-line, she is afraid reality will crush her, pound her to dust.

_Small steps. No, small bites_, she thinks. _Yes, that's it, small bites._ That's how she will set to work on digesting the past two months.

She straightens her neck, righting herself up, and slowly turns around. She takes in the soft lighting, the reflective surface of the polished desk, the bright spot of color on the bed. The Kyoto Grand's interior designer has skillfully injected a few Japanese touches in the room. The crisp white linen, bared with a narrow red bedspread is such an example. She lets her eyes wander over the discreetly modern wall paper, the smooth leather armchair, the lustrous sheen of the damask love-seat. The room is all contrasting textures. She could read the story weaved around her with the tip of her fingers. She smiles. This is a decor she could have dreamed herself. She feels comfortable here. A crooked smile, lips curling ever so slightly at the corner flashes through her mind. A hot wave bursts low in her belly and nearly overpowers her as it rushes up through her, knocking her breath out.

She shakes her head slowly. _Small bites, remember, small bites_, she repeats as a mantra.

Her eyes rove the room and settle on the suitcase. It is resting on the plush rug, where the bellboy left it. The suitcase. Her suitcase. She sighs. His suitcase.

She can start with that.

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**I didn't set out to write context-free fluff, so this story starts on a somewhat sober note.**

**I can't imagine Ariadne stepping out of the plane, after a 10-hour flight, completing her first work assignment (she is still a student, and working for the first time IS stressful), and of course, living through an incredibly intense experience without feeling utterly tired and confused. After a transatlantic flight, I always feel in a fog: my body is of the world, but my mind is playing catch-up. It usually lasts until I can sleep for the night. **

**This said, the story starts on a gloomier note than what I had in mind. Good thing is: it won't stay that way too long. ;)**


	2. Backstories

**Chapter 2: Backstories**

_Une semaine plus tôt à_ Paris (A week earlier in Paris)

Ariadne is hunched over her desk, her attention shifting back and forth between a scaled model and the layout drawings of the hotel ground floor. She is double-checking fire exits, service entrances and the hidden panel she incorporated behind the reception desk. She is proud of that one, a shortcut that leads from the center of the open space to a back alley. One of the little dream paradoxes Arthur taught her.

Her concentration slips when she hears Arthur shifts in his seat. Eames is at the pointman's desk, handing him a passport. Arthur flips it open. His eyebrows shoot up:

"Eames T. Hardy… Eames _Thomas_ Hardy? Someone's got ideas of grandeur."

Eames only chuckles. Ariadne beams at him:

"I didn't know your name."

Both men stare at her. Not for the first time, Ariadne has the distinct feeling that she has missed the point. She doesn't belong to their world yet.

Arthur stands up, and starts moving towards her. He takes the time to undo his cufflinks and roll his sleeves up to his elbows. He leans on her desk, and she pivots in her chair to better watch him. He offers a striking profile, lean and hard.

"Sometimes a subject realizes extraction has been performed on him. Not instantly when he wakes up, the feeling develops over three or four days. But with the realization, comes the need to investigate."

He tilts his head towards her, assuring himself she's following.

"And so we need fake names."

His slanted eyes crinkle in what she now recognizes as his hidden smile. He continues:

"We need a bit more than that, some back-story. When a target starts investigating, he has to go back 6 to 7 days, checking his travel, the time spent in hotels, in one-on-one meetings, … Thankfully, the type of men targeted for extraction have busy schedules, travel often, meet lovers in busy hotels."

"So it is harder for them to pinpoint the moment the shared dream took place."

"You catch on quickly. The main precaution we take is for each of us to have an independent reason to be in the same place at the same time. We cannot travel as a group on our jobs. We craft separate reasons to share a cabin on a plane or a car on a train. A smoke screen of sorts."

"So, Eames Hardy is an alias?"

"Yes."

"And what is his story?"

If she hadn't witnessed Arthur keep his calm under any and every circumstance since she's known him, during all the waking hours they spent working side by side in the warehouse, and their even longer hours in the dream training sessions, she could swear the darker tinge of his cheeks is embarrassment.

"Eames has various lady friends. Usually rich, or powerful, or close to power, sometimes the three. But always needing … discretion. He visits one or the other, depending on when the job takes place. If someone investigates him, any abnormality gets attributed to an attempt to conceal the identity of his paramour of the day."

He smiles and shrugs, somewhat apologetically. She can't help the mischievous tone and the direct stare, straight into his eyes, when she asks her next question.

"What is your back-story then?"

"Nothing so glamorous. Sorry to disappoint." he deadpans, before continuing. "Cobb and I have been at it a long time. We have various identities set, and dummy corporations to cover our trips worldwide. Import and export, international finances, that sort of activities make for a good cover."

Her gaze travels from the tip of his Italian shoes, up the crisp pants and fitted waistcoat, to the tie and buttoned up collar.

"Hence the suit"

His own eyes follow the path hers just took before meeting hers. He chuckles.

"No, I think this is just me."

He holds her gaze, and she can feel heat creeping up past her scarf.

"So what do you have for me?"

He drops his eyes before he answers "I am working on it."


	3. Travel documents

_I have added a few lines of dialog in chapter 2, before updating the story. Nothing major, but it does explain what Eames back-story is._

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**Chapitre 3: Travel documents**

_Quatre jours plus tôt à Paris _(Four days earlier in Paris)

When she steps in the warehouse that morning, she can feel the air crackling with excitement. The tension is palpable. It has just been announced: Maurice Fisher passed. The body will be flown to Los Angeles. Robert Fisher will be onboard the plane. They are three days away from taking off. They are three days away from their attempt at Inception.

Cobb calls out to his team members to gather round.

"We will be doing a final rehearsal today. I want us to visit each dream in succession, perform a final check of the layout and further memorizing each maze. Any question?"

He looks at each of his team member in turn. They nod, or wave acquiescence. He then turns to Arthur.

"How are we doing with the back-stories?"

The point man slides a hand through his hair before starting.

"Eames is on his way to Hawaii for some _vacation_ time."

There's a slight inflexion on vacation. Arthur glances up at the forger, who winks none too subtly. Yusuf lets a laugh out. Arthur's glance turns into an eye-roll. No one notices but Ariadne, and when the point man's eyes set on her, she can't help but grace him with a full fledge smile. His eyes darken, but his face is impassive and he continues:

"I have booked you on a connecting flight to HNL. Here is your travel information."

He hands the forger an envelope and turns to Yusuf.

"I have your new ID package: passport, two credit cards, a few bills in your name. The usual."

Another envelope exchanges hands and Yusuf starts exploring its content eagerly. Ariadne remembers Eames telling her that the chemist normally doesn't go on jobs for extraction. This is almost as new an experience for him as it is for her. She is very curious to know what her own back-story will be and can't help fidgeting.

The point-man moves on to the next team member:

"Mr. Saito is the only one traveling under his real name."

Saito nods:

"I have announced I wish to cut back on the use of private planes for travel in my company. Set up a good example, trim the fat as the American would say. It was one of the rationale I put forth to justify buying the airline anyway." He chuckles. "So it is only natural that I put my words into practice and test this new acquisition of mine."

Cobb is the next one Arthur addresses: "I went with Branburry Consulting."

This seems to mean something for Cobb. He acquiesces without speaking and turns then to the last and newest member of the team.

Arthur doesn't speak right away and Eames can't suppress the glee in his voice as he asks:

"So what did you find for our little architect here?"

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**I have seen the movie only once, two weeks ago, so the time line is very imprecise. I can't remember how much time lapsed between the moment their announced the death of Maurice Fisher and the time they took off. I also can't remember if they had decided to attempt the inception during a flight or if the decision was prompted by the circumstances. I will update the chapter when I get some data on this. :)**


	4. Mr Parkson

**Chapter 4: Mr. Parkson**

Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, jacket off, leaning on his desk, Arthur slides his hands in his pockets before looking up at Ariadne.

"You will be traveling under your real name."

He turns to Cobb:

"There wasn't enough time to set up a new and complete identity. None of the blank profile I would use in such a case fits a young woman."

She is disappointed not to have a new name. She had been looking forward to hear what he picked for her and learn about the background he would give her. In what light would he cast her? In the next moment though, realization downs, and her face light up when she asks:

"No alias, check. But how do you explain a young student in architecture traveling first class to LA in the middle of the semester?"

Her eyes are teasing him, sending an unspoken challenge his way. He doesn't miss a beat.

"Mr. Parkson"

There's a pause as everyone turns to him, waiting for an explanation. He doesn't elaborate, keeping his attention focused on Ariadne, waiting for the ball to drop. Her brow is knitted as she tries to make sense of Arthur's statement. She starts tentatively:

"There is a Jason Parkson in my _Histoire de l'architecture_ lecture. But what does he have to do with this?"

"Aaron. Not Jason"

She shakes her head. It really doesn't ring a bell. Arthur adds softly:

"His father."

She parts her lips to tell him she doesn't follow, but he continues without her prompting:

"He visited Jason a month ago, stayed here for a week…"

The rest of his explanation is cut short by Eames' roar. The forger's deep hearty laugh is contagious and wide smiles break out on Cobb's, and Yusuf's lips. Saito is more reserved, but the business man posture relaxes a bit. Ariadne can feel they all know what Arthur is talking about, and that, for them at least, the issue is settled. For the second time in as many days, she feels herself left out; missing an important piece of knowledge of the shady world they evolve in.

Her attention drifts back to Arthur. He hasn't moved, and isn't laughing. Or smiling. His eyes are soft, caressing her face, expressing concern and an apology of sorts. He leaves his position on the desk and in three steps, cross the distance to where she stands. A look at the men gathered around them and a nod are enough to send a clear message. _Meeting adjourned. Dismiss._ They disperse, returning to their own occupations, but not before Eames waggles his eyebrows and winks at her.

Arthur glances sideways at the coffee maker they've set on a plastic lawn chair and back at her. She nods and grabs her mug on her desk. In companionable silence, she pours them two full cups and starts sipping hers black. She shakes her head in mock disapproval as he drops three sugar lumps in his mug.

"So… Jason's father was in Paris, I met him, and now, I am visiting him in the States. Is that it?" She pieced it together from the other's reactions to Arthur's announcement. Arthur nods, mildly surprised at her reaction. She seems amused by the thought.

"If anyone were to look, your plane tickets and hotel booking trace back to a company owned by Mr. Parkson." He pauses, but she is too busy trying not to blush. "He also had flowers delivered to your place today."

The air in the immense warehouse is suddenly too stuffy for her, and her scarf keeps her too warm. She is sure Arthur can feel the heat, embarrassingly seeping from her, and the red tinge creeping up from her neck to her roots. She throws him a side glance, but he seems entirely unfazed and unaffected. She drops her head and murmurs "He is a very nice man."

Later that day, when they are done with Arthur's dream and are readying themselves to enter Eames', he comes to her and asks for her keys. He needs to pick up a few of her personal items to complete the suitcase he is assembling for her to match her story.

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This is the first time I write a story, let alone publish it. I have been very surprised and happy to read the reviews some of you have left. Thank you!


	5. Home

**Chapter 5: Home**

On her way home, Ariadne eyelids stubbornly refuse to stay up. She is drowsing, her head resting on the subway car window, opening her eyes once in a while to check the name of a stop. They have visited the three dreams today, covering miles and miles of street, hotel corridors and snow covered mountain slopes. Thankfully, it was sunny in Yusuf and Eames' dreams. She spent the day slumbering on a plastic lawn chair in a warehouse, but she still feels the exhaustion that usually comes from a day spent out of doors.

And yet her mind is churning out mazes, running over the layout she set up for each dream with frenzy, testing the boundaries of her brain with piled on paradoxes. Truth be told, she has been thinking of little else since her first shared dream with Cobb. Her classes have been an opportunity to stock her mind with accepted architectural shapes, so as not to frighten the projections; her walks through the Parisian streets, a shopping spree at a "smells and textures" mall. She has turned every waking moment as fodder for her dreams.

She exits the Métro and is surprised to find the local grocer's has already closed. She hasn't realized it was already passed 11 pm. Ah, well, she's sure she has some pasta left somewhere back home.

She climbs the stairs to her 6th floor walk-up. She has barely reached the landing, when her neighbor's door bursts open, releasing an over-excited young woman, long hair piled high on the neck and held with a pencil.

"Quelqu'un t'a fait livrer des fleurs! Le fleuriste est passé cet après-midi, je lui ai ouvert." _(Someone sent you flowers! The florist came this afternoon and I buzzed him in)_

Only then does Ariadne remembers her talk with Arthur. She turns to Emilie and smile:

"Ça doit venir mes parents. Merci pour la porte!" _(It must come my parents. Thanks for letting him in)_

She plunges a hand in her jeans pocket to retrieve her keys and comes up empty. In the next second she remembers that Arthur hasn't handed her back her keys. Her face falls as she imagines having to drag herself back to the warehouse. She is already tired to the bone as it is! Her neighbor picks up her change of mood.

"Tout va bien Ariane? Je peux faire quelque chose pour t'aider?" _(Is everything allright Ariane? Can I do something to help?)_

Ariadne shakes her head:

"Non, non, merci. Tout va bien. Je crois j'ai oublié mes clés_." (No, no, thanks. Everything's ok. I think I forgotten my keys)_

"Ton _boyfriend_ ne te les a pas rendues?" _(Your boyfriend didn't bring them back to you?)_

At these words, Ariadne's head snap to Emilie:

"My boyfriend?"

"A man came this afternoon. He had your keys. He said that you sent him to pick up an assignment you had to hand in today?"

"Oh yes, he did. But he's a … a friend."

Emilie's assertion has troubled her, and she starts digging through her messenger bag for her keys to keep herself busy. She is as surprised as she is glad to find them there. She takes the keys out and jingles them for Emilie:

"C'est bon, elles sont là!" She's already opening the door and stepping in her studio before she remembers to call out "Bonne nuit!".

She hurries inside and shuts the door. She is exhausted and lets her keys and her messenger bag drop to the floor. The scarf follows and she is halfway to her bed when she notices the bouquet on her desk. He went with Persian buttercups. Not very older-man-wooing-young-thing she reflects, but this is more to her liking than an exotic flower arrangement, or classical long stem red roses. And, she adds in her mind with a smirk, the only thing that counts after all, is the florist charge on Parkson senior's card statement.

Her jeans and her shirt have joined her pile of dirty laundry and she is brushing her teeth in her underwear, when the image of Arthur, standing in the middle of her room, flashes through her mind. The picture is vivid, crystal clear the whole two seconds it sears her brain. She hurriedly rinses and finishes changing into her pajamas. This makes her feel less awkward as she runs a quick eye on her shelves to try and identify what Arthur took. Her travel toiletry case is missing. But her suitcase is still stuck under the bed. And short of taking a complete inventory of her clothes, she has to admit that she has no idea what he took. She stifles a yawn. Time for bed.

Once she is snugly tucked in her duvet, and on the verge of sleep, a last thought half forms in her head. Arthur was in her apartment, going through her things and even taking some. She should feel uncomfortable; she usually values her privacy highly. But imagining him here makes her feel safe and warm. Before the thought can fully register though, she is fast asleep


End file.
